The Brothers Elric
by This Account Is Me
Summary: One-shots. A sort of rumination series on the Elric bothers, from their perspective and others. Set during the series. drabbley. Characters so far: Edward. Alphonse. Mustang. Hawkeye. Izumi. Havoc.
1. Edward

Title: Mathematics

* * *

Edward Elric is a genius, as if that isn't fucking **obvious. **

Or at least, he'd thought it'd been obvious, had assumed that people could put two and two together. What, with all the 'child prodigy' rumors and shit going around, it didn't seem a stretch. Fuck, he's an _alchemist _prodigy, for fuck's sake, and that should mean _something_.

Not his fault it equates to shit. Not his fault people are morons, can't even follow basic arithmetic.

Hell, the method for determining IQ is simple enough for a toddler to grasp (he remembers teaching it to Al, as a distraction from the monsters lurking underneath his bed): IQ equals mental age divided by real age multiplied by a hundred. Not at all hard to comprehend.

But apparently, Edward really is a genius, that, or everyone is too deranged to be fixed. The latter is most certainly true. After all, if more people could think rationally, Mustang wouldn't be in _any _position of power. Not only does that shit bastard possesses the mental age of a five year old (Ed's done the math), he still requires a babysitter (please don't tell Hawkeye he called her that, _please_). Edward really has no idea how that man became a Colonel; most days it's like he can't even seem to operate a basic pen.

But Edward Elric is not Roy Mustang. Edward Elric is a genius, alright? He can do the math, and it would be _fucking brilliant _if people didn't try to do it for him!

Because he already knows, thank you very much. So everyone can stop with the staring, with the pity, with the heartbroken smiles and the sympathy. And while he can't exactly blame them for their moment's hesitation, for the look they adopt whenever all the pieces finally get slotted into place, he can very well say that he _fucking hates it. _

Enough that he wants to scream, to shout, to tear them to pieces and bury them and their damned math deep in the dirt. More than anything, he wants to punch that man in the goddamn face whenever he senses the waver behind that insufferable smirk. Because, damn it, _not you too_!

Edward Elric knows his math. He recognizes that the odds are terrible, even for a 'genius', even for a 'prodigy'. For anyone else, they would probably be next to nonexistent. But he knows better than to believe in the impossible, not where equivalency can be achieved. And so he knows, by mathematic definition: _the possibility must exist._

He knows there's a deal to be made. Just a matter of finding the correct enacting process, of figuring out the proper currency exchange. Simple math. He's done it before; he's the one who bought a soul for an arm.

Really, he's done the math. So don't tell him the odds.

Don't dismiss him yet.


	2. Alphonse

Title: Monsters Never Sleep

* * *

Alphonse Elric could be considered a monster, and he doesn't have to look deep inside to see why (just a mirror will suffice). A giant suit of armor, immune to disease, heat, and hunger. An alchemist that never tires, never sleeps, never eats. Really, for as much as his big brother fusses, Alphonse is, truthfully, very nearly indestructible.

There's no body to damage after all, just one little mark, and it really is a very small target. Especially on something so large as him.

Yes, if he wants it, Alphonse can be a monster. He knows that with all the travelling he does, stories would spread like a plague, tales of a metal demon, of a soulless beast without a heart, without conscience. His victims would be so many, and well dispersed. They would all be clueless as to what he truly was, as unknowing as everyone else.

Except for the one. The only victim that would refuse to leave his side, no matter Al's behavior. His brother, the constant victim, the one that _couldn't_ escape. If he were ever so tempted, Alphonse could **destroy** him.

It would be so subtle (because Alphonse is the Elric that can be subtle), like the disease that slowly ate away their mother's life. Al could be so harsh, so cold and bitter and condescending. He could be angry and aloof, could cry (but not really), and maybe he'd even go so far as to whine.

Or maybe he would just rage and scream, and destroy entire cities.

Oh yes, if he truly desired, he could put Ed through Hell. He could have him sleeping on the ground, living on nothing but rice and milk. And he knows, _he knows_, that Edward would never complain, wound never dare to contend with him.

Edward would not resent him, if Al swayed his brother into hating everything, everything he couldn't experience for himself. It wouldn't even be difficult, laughably simple really, convincing him to hate the sensation of touch, the feel of wind, of water, of warm sunlight on bare skin.

Alphonse could make him hate himself for the muscles he needed to stretch, the skin that could burn and tear. For having a body that could _break._

He could push his brother down, a little more each day, until the weight of the automail felt feather light in comparison. He could turn his brother into something quiet, something even more jaded, more desperate, something so completely **_broken_**_._

And yet... this monster Alphonse could not hold a flame to the doppelganger in his brother's nightmares. For in those dark dreams lurks a far crueler creature, a little brother who's lost all hope, a child who won't believe his older brother's promises. An Alphonse who blames Ed at every turn, who hates him. An Alphonse that dies and dies and dies and **_dies._** A little boy who cannot be saved; the one that will always leave Edward all alone. Forever.

Alphonse can never be as cruel as that beast, and for that, Alphonse feels hate. Deep, bitter, unsatisfying. Because this is something he cannot beat, something he cannot destroy, can never overcome.

This is his reality, every night, as his brother sleeps. This is what he hears in the dark, the whimpers he knows by heart. Every cry and plea that tears his brother's throat, another sharp note in the symphony of his torment. Alphonse watches his brother on those nights, shaking, and thinks, so bitterly, that it just isn't fair!

Alphonse can't even sleep, but he's haunting his brother's dreams.

Edward Elric has always been pegged as the remorseful brother, the one with an inescapable, guilty conscience. But if you asked the younger brother, the towering, metal brother, then you would know: Alphonse _knows_ guilt. He understands what it's like to be trapped in a nightmare, what it means to be too weak to do a damned thing about it. He knows what its likes to be _useless_. And sometimes, in those dark nights, he thinks that he really would be a monster, a real, proper one, if it meant he could banish the one in his brother's head.

He would at least try, if it would let his brother sleep in peace.


	3. Mustang

Title: Fight to Lose (Your Trust)

* * *

Roy Mustang is not surprised he won the fight. If anything, he's a little offended by just how many people seemed to think he might fair otherwise. Really, as if a _child _could beat the great Flame Alchemist. How completely absurd.

Normally, Roy might try to give his opponent _some _credit. For one thing, the boy's passion is as clear as day. But he won't risk inflating the kid's ego even more. And besides, for all his brazen and spitfire, Fullmetal still lost. Simply put, the boy lacks the skill and strategy to ever beat an experienced soldier such as Mustang.

The Colonel clings to this belief, as faulty and shallow as it is. He knows the truth is more than that, so much more, but it's a truth he isn't comfortable in acknowledging.

Still, that doesn't stop it from existing, and his denial won't make it any less true.

Their fight had revealed something to him, something he had overlooked. And this knowledge, now gained, is something that can't be taken back. Certainly, he knew that Edward had never beaten Alphonse in a fight, but he had never given the matter much thought. Edward was hot-tempered, so of course Alphonse would best him in a fight. Not once had he thought that there'd been more to it. At least, not until he fought the brat himself.

It had been a ridiculous move, a doubtless attempt to embarrass him, just like the entirety of the match. He remembers the feel of it, the sensation of his glove being ripped, sliced right from his _skin,_ and not even spilling a drop of blood. It had been so meticulous, so precise, so blatantly for _show, _that Mustang is still amazed he didn't laugh. The accuracy needed to wield such a large blade, while moving, without so much as nicking the skin of the hand it clings to, is nothing short of phenomenal. So impressive, in fact, that Mustang is certain Fullmetal doesn't even appreciate how extraordinary it is.

It would have been simple, _practical_, for Fullmetal to have ended the fight right there. To have sent a punch or a kick that would have put Roy out. But no, the boy had chosen to disarm him, had deigned to end the game without even a cut or bruise to mar his Commanding Officer's skin.

Roy...wishes that didn't terrify him.

He knows the others wish for Ed to be more trusting. That they look to the day where he'll learn to put some faith in those around him. Roy understands. But understanding won't stop his blood from turning cold at very notion.

Because he knows, he _knows_, how dangerous it is to trust. Even for someone like him, who could take someone he trusts and _still_** burn them to ashes** if his ambitions demanded it.

So he fears the day, he fears the day Edward starts to branch out, starts to draw others into his circle. Fears the notion that someday, the boy's more jaded doctrines will fade into the backdrop.

Because if there's one thing he's learned about the boy, it's that Fullmetal will never win a fight against someone he trusts.

Roy wishes that didn't terrify him.


	4. Hawkeye

Title: A Gunner in Wonderland

* * *

Lieutenant Hawkeye prides herself on being a strong pragmatic. She holds it high amongst her boastings, comparable to her aim and equal with her composure.

_Word had come that evening: Edward Elric, only two days out of Central, and already confined to a hospital bed. _

She is a strong advocate of realism; she checks the magazine of her at-hand each and every morning and night, and leaves prayer to the unprepared.

_She spoke to Alphonse on the phone. No amount of prodding or subtle threatening could get him to divulge anything, not while his brother had yet to regain consciousness._

If given the option, she will always choose a gun over optimism. In her experience, hope makes for a lousy shield, a meager weapon.

"_It was a dead end." She doesn't fool herself with the idea that it's just a bad connection –there is genuine bitterness in the younger Elric's voice. It's the voice he never uses when Edward is awake to hear it. _

In the dark, when she has no one to be strong for, when she has no comfort but the cold steel in beneath her touch, she wonders if her dreams are too fanciful, too idealistic, too _childish_ to ever gain merit.

Her hands almost falter –almost– as she cleans and polishes and primes her guns. In the dim light of a candle, she thinks of her goals (_his _goals), of her duty, and of a dream to spare the future generations from the horrors of genocide and empty bloodshed. Then she thinks of two little boys, and their impossible quest; a fool's errand with no shot at success.

She thinks of jaded, animalistic eyes, and of impossibilities like empty armor, immortality, and and stones made from _life._

Desperately, she checks over each and every firearm she has in her possession.

She is not an alchemist. There are things she does not understand, things she cannot grasp and cannot defend against or attack. Most nights, she feels a flicker of fear, knowing that there are so many things she cannot face.

Tonight, she is grateful it exists. Grateful for that world where she doesn't understand, that world where guns are useless and so is she.

It's a world where she has no power, but for tonight at least, she won't resent its existence.

Because it's only in that world, not hers, that those brothers have any sort of chance.


	5. Izumi

Title: Idiots

* * *

Alright, it's official: they're both idiots.

Seriously, she has no idea why she's even bothering with these two. No amount of training or hard work will sweat out their stupidity.

(It has _nothing_ to do with their age. She does _not_ think about her stillborn son, does not acknowledge that he would be only a little bit older…)

They're both hopelessly pathetic, snot-nosed brats, but…she'll keep them. What can she do? They survived the island. They won; she'll train them.

(It's not like they have any parents waiting for them back home).

Time passes, and they get better. A little.

(She doesn't tell them why the blood pours from her mouth).

They ask about the true knowledge.

(She doesn't tell them.)

They don't need to know about her greatest failure. They don't need to know what haunts her each and every night.

(Ed's persistent).

She's not there to teach them about idiocy. What good could that possibly do them?

(She doesn't tell them).

Really, they still just kids. They don't need know about _her_ mistakes.

(It won't do them any good).

Their training is finally done.

(_She **doesn't** tell them._)

* * *

Except for the occasional picture, she sees nothing of them for years.

(That boy's become a dog).

When they do show up, it's not what she expected.

(She _knew_ he was an idiot).

They're still such kids, eager to show her just how much they've improved.

(_Damn him._ What the _**hell**_ was he thinking?!)

He doesn't need a transmutation circle.

(...no).

Ed hasn't grown. Al's _huge._

(Oh god, no...)

...and hollow. And Ed's half-missing.

(_No, no, no!_)

Al is silent. Ed's resigned.

(_How could they_?!)

His eyes are fierce though, and so, so cold. He's told this story before.

(How could she...)

"MORONS!"

(She didn't tell them).

...

(She's an idiot).


	6. Havoc

Title: Small Town Courtesy

* * *

He isn't surprised when Edward Elric, notorious _brat _prodigy, suddenly cuts off his snarking match with the Colonel. He isn't surprised when the kid abruptly stomps away from the group, giant little brother in tow. Isn't surprised when he helps an old lady with her groceries. And yeah, maybe he has Al do most of the carrying, but he's still there, still there to make sure she gets in alright, to make sure she doesn't need any help putting everything away.

The others are…floored. He can tell, just by reading their faces. For a second he doesn't get it. The kid is a punk, alright, but he isn't a _bad _kid. There's nothing unusual about helping an old-

_Ah_.

He almost shakes his head at it, but then, it's nobody's fault. Life is very different, after all, here in the city.

Edward returns, brother still in tow, and instantly he's back on, snarling and raging at the Colonel as if he hasn't missed a beat. The Colonel hesitates for all of a quarter second, probably trying to decide if this deserves some sort of passing remark or jab. Instead, the man resumes their 'conversation'. It becomes obvious then, that no one is going to address this very bizarre and uncharacteristic behavior, lest they wish for it to never occur again.

He almost snorts, but instead just inhales on his cigarette.

The team, they think that this is something _novel_, something terribly odd. They think this is Ed being _nice. _Sure, if Alphonse had done it alone, or had prodded Ed to help first, they wouldn't've found it strange at all. But for the kid to just _willingly_ help out some old hag with some everyday sort of issue – it's just beyond their comprehension.

He knows better. This isn't about being consciously nice or charitable, this is about upbringing. Small town courtesy, the sort of behavior that comes from living a down-to-earth, countryside life. There, people have the time to help each other out, no matter how busy they are, or how bad-tempered they may be. Anybody halfway decent would offer to collect an absent neighbor's mail, or patch up a hole in a fence, or even feed a sick person's farm animals. A good deed for absolutely nothing. No ulterior motives.

Ed may not have a grasp on military decorum, and maybe he doesn't know what's proper. But in the country it isn't about doing what's _proper_, it's about doing what's right. Plain and simple, Edward always does what he knows is right, same for Al. And maybe that's something the city-born just can't begin to grasp.

Watching the others, he takes another drag and smiles to himself.

No, he can tell the others don't quite get it.


End file.
